The Fragility of Welcome
by Jana MacDonald
We gathered around an outdoor table large enough to seat twelve—the offerings of a fresh spring harvest waiting to be shared among new friends. I leaned in as Amy Jill Levine recounted one of the many times “nice,” grayhaired Protestant ladies—having never met a Jewish person—asked where she had her horns removed. She remarked that they were surprised (and also relieved) to learn that Jews don’t actually have horns. She told the story with her typical wry wit, and I wondered whether I had heard her correctly in between bites of my watermelon salad. As I discovered, it’s a belief that has circulated for centuries—a harmful historical myth rooted in a biblical mistranslation.
Levine is no stranger to such hurtful comments. When she was just a young girl growing up in Massachusetts—an Orthodox Jew living in a predominantly Catholic community—a classmate on the bus told her she was guilty of killing Jesus. Her mother reassured her that this was not true, and while she could have grown cold or bitter toward the Other, that moment drew her near instead. She would spend a lifetime helping Jews and Christians better understand one another. Levine has built her life and career around interfaith hospitality—yet her experiences reveal just how fragile welcome can be.
Levine’s work is fascinating. As a Jewish New Testament scholar, she has spent her life challenging interpretations of Scripture that carry antisemitic assumptions. Her point is simple and profound: we don’t need to make Jews look bad to make Jesus look good. Her irenic and brilliant scholarship has profoundly enriched my own Christian faith, helping me see the New Testament more clearly within its Jewish context and strengthening my commitment to a faith rooted in humility, justice, and love of neighbor. She has also given me permission to wrestle with the text—questioning, actively engaging, and gathering multiple perspectives—a practice in Jewish tradition known as midrash.
Recently, Dr. Levine was elected as the first Jewish president of the Catholic Biblical Association of America (CBA). While this may seem incongruent to some, the CBA is an academic society devoted to the scholarly study of Scripture, of which many non-Catholics and Jews are members. In response to her appointment, Levine received hateful messages on several social media platforms—messages she described as “obscene, violent, threatening, and vile.” They come at a time of rising antisemitism in the United States. Levine—who has spent a lifetime building bridges and confronting the antisemitism woven into even well-intentioned Bible teaching—was not receiving the dignity she has so often shown to others. Watching this unfold online filled me with sadness; such rhetoric is a betrayal of the gospel and has no rightful place among Christians. It also made me grateful for SSU: for its commitment to the Jesus Way, for the generous space it makes for difference, and for the hospitable learning spaces where justice, beauty, and compassion shape us as peacebuilders.
Healing from my evangelical roots—once shrouded in certainty and dualistic thinking—SSU has helped me grow in interfaith awareness and welcome. I now know that we can engage with, dialogue with, learn from, and be challenged by people of other faiths without our own faith being threatened. The foundation of interfaith hospitality is not necessarily agreement, but openness. In embracing this tension, such engagement often deepens our understanding of ourselves, God, and others. We can move beyond mutual misconceptions without compromising our core beliefs and values. If our faith is strong enough, it will hold—or it will bend and shift and transform as perhaps it is meant to. It’s healing and freeing to embrace people as they are with the understanding that everyone has something to teach us. As Levine once wrote, “Look at the other tradition with generosity and seek to see the good.”
In teaching and in practice, Jesus consistently crosses religious, ethnic, and cultural boundaries—perhaps seen most clearly in his encounter with the Samaritan woman at the well in John 4. Following his example, we can trust that God often reveals himself through mutual hospitality. Engaging with the Other—without demanding conversion, and while honoring the insight of people outside our own faith tradition—is the way toward the healing, wholeness, and shalom that humanity desires and God intends. This is the kind of Christian witness I want to be a part of.
It’s helpful to remember that we are strangers, too. Marianne Moyaert reminds us that acknowledging our own “strangeness” can open us up to receive the “strangeness” of the Other. This posture helps us grow in interfaith awareness, learning more about our own religious identity while cultivating a greater understanding of others. It becomes a bridge across lines of difference, revealing how God is at work in the world as we grow in empathy toward our neighbors and gain new perspectives. Love, compassion, grace, and holy curiosity are the foundation of shalom—for we are all created in the divine image of God, connected in a web of mutuality.
Amy-Jill Levine knows this: “If I demonize them, I lose my own humanity.” It appears that a Jewish New Testament scholar has a greater understanding of the Prince of Peace than many Christians who claim to follow him. Peacemakers, may we go and do likewise.
Bio: Jana MacDonald is a writer, educator, and everyday peacemaker. A recent graduate of St. Stephen’s University (M.A. in Peace & Justice), she carries this formation into her own community through writing, teaching, and relational peacebuilding. She is the author of The Gathering, a weekly newsletter where she reflects on God’s presence, becoming better neighbors, and the practical and persistent work of peacebuilding in an upside-down world. Jana lives in northeastern Connecticut with her family and her happy flock of chickens. You can find her on Substack at janamacdon.substack.com.